


Love is Noise

by mytimehaspassed



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-22 06:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/234772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytimehaspassed/pseuds/mytimehaspassed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur touches Merlin, the stones shake beneath them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is Noise

**LOVE IS NOISE**  
MERLIN  
Arthur/Merlin; Merlin/Will  
 **WARNINGS** : AU  
Betaed by [](http://amory-vain.livejournal.com/profile)[**amory_vain**](http://amory-vain.livejournal.com/) and [](http://neverseenthesky.livejournal.com/profile)[**neverseenthesky**](http://neverseenthesky.livejournal.com/)

  
When Arthur touches Merlin, the stones shake beneath them. Merlin grips the post of Arthur’s bed and Arthur moves into him, his mouth on Merlin’s neck, his fingers lost in the fabric of Merlin’s shirt. When Arthur touches Merlin, its red and gold on the back of Merlin’s eyelids, the cupboards in Arthur’s chambers slamming open, slamming shut, the table moving inch by inch across the room. It’s magic shimmering and sparking in the pit of Merlin’s stomach, in the tips of his fingers, the hollow of his throat, Arthur’s mouth and Merlin’s soft moans.

The first time this happened, Arthur hadn’t spit out the word sorcerer like Merlin thought he would. There was no call to the knights standing guard by Uther’s door, no quick slide of Arthur’s sword out of its sheath, no point of metal against Merlin’s chest. Merlin’s mouth had been wet and soft and frozen, his eyes wide when Arthur pulled back from the silent kiss. Arthur’s hand still on the dip of Merlin’s waist, he had turned his head to the overturned wine goblet that had flown off the table, his white knuckled grip steady on Merlin’s arm.

“Does this happen often?” Arthur had asked with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Not very,” Merlin had said, his lips quivering somewhere between a smile and a grim, determined line.

“Just with me, then?” Arthur’s grin was both brilliant and smug.

“Prat,” Merlin had said, his fingers sliding up to the space between Arthur’s shoulder blades, Arthur’s mouth descending to Merlin’s again.

If Merlin thought he was good at keeping secrets, then he was as daft as he led everyone to believe he was, Arthur had told him later, with Merlin’s head cushioned on Arthur’s royal pillow, Merlin’s smooth, pale skin peeking out of the pool of Arthur’s royal bed sheets. Arthur had known since before Merlin had thrown himself before the court, before the gust of wind at Ealdor. Arthur can’t remember a time when he didn’t know, he had said, watching Merlin’s eyes gleam gold and the dying spark of the fire alighting once more with a crackle of burning wood. Arthur never said he was angry with Merlin for keeping it secret, but when he spoke, his face was drawn and the muscles in jaw kept twitching.

Merlin never explained why he lied, but only because Arthur knew all the same. Only because Arthur could never forget where he came from, who he was.

***

Merlin isn’t thick, he knows he’s not the only one who warms Arthur’s bed. When Arthur becomes king, he will take a wife to be queen, to give him heirs and to sit straight backed and strong beside him. After all, Arthur might be Merlin’s destiny, but Merlin has never been his, no matter what the dragon might spout, sweet tongued and obscure.

Arthur has a reputation to uphold and that includes bedding the odd scullery maid or stable boy or passing Lord and Lady. Merlin will forget to knock like he always does and pull open the wooden door to find Arthur’s mouth on someone else’s skin and he’ll freeze and stammer and shut the door behind him, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes, trying to forget what he just saw. Arthur won’t blush, but only because Crown Princes don’t blush. He’ll be coarse and sharp for a week, though, walking over his strewn clothing with muddy boots and ordering Merlin to muck out the stables more than necessary. He’ll hunt and he’ll train his knights and he’ll come back bruised and bleeding with dirt and animal guts underneath his fingernails and he’ll send Merlin away if he even tries to lay soothing palms on Arthur’s wounds.

Merlin is Arthur’s, though, so Merlin never sleeps with anyone else. Arthur will tell him this, when he’s soft and nice again, when his mouth is sweet on Merlin’s shoulder, on Merlin’s chest. Merlin never minds, but only because he is left aching with pleasure under Arthur’s tongue.

***

Ealdor had taught Merlin innocence. Ealdor was his mother’s ringing laughter and the sweet smell of summer wheat and the press of soft, chaste kisses behind Will’s house, Merlin’s hand still over Will’s beating heart.

Camelot has taught Merlin bravery. Camelot is fire and magic and the thick layer of blood on Arthur’s golden skin, marred only by Merlin’s fingerprints and his desperate pleas for guidance. Camelot is the sharp edge of Arthur’s sword, the cold, bitter sweep of Uther’s rage. Camelot is the death that Merlin has slowly come to accept will be his own one day, when Arthur dies in battle, headstrong and beautiful, when Merlin will finally feel the magic curled tight inside leave him like an exhale of breath.

***

Arthur never tells Merlin he loves him, but only because Crown Princes don’t fall in love with their servants. Merlin knows this, knows Arthur’s touch is for Arthur and never for Merlin, even when Merlin gives in, even when he hitches his breath, the line of his pale neck arching under Arthur’s mouth, Merlin’s fingers grasping at the bed linen. Even when Merlin feels like telling Arthur sometimes, his words silent against Arthur’s skin, words of love instead of magic, but hidden, all the same.

Arthur is Arthur’s only priority for now, but once the King dies, it will be Camelot, and Merlin within, who will bring magic back to the kingdom with ease, who will make sure that Arthur smiles more and worries less, the weight of his father lifted from his shoulders. Arthur will lose his pride and the arrogant, jagged way he looks at the world, but Merlin will make sure he gains wisdom. Merlin will make sure he becomes who he’s meant to be and not who his father taught him to be.

***

Arthur hides behind goblets of wine and the slick veil of proper words. When he asks Merlin to stay, to attend to him, slung out on his bed watching Merlin pick up the clothes he’s thrown about, Merlin knows what this means. When he asks Merlin to draw him a bath, to stay behind and to run the cloth across his back after a long day of hunting, Merlin knows that what Arthur wants is Merlin’s hands on him, on the skin just below his belly. Merlin will undress like he’s supposed to, Arthur watching him with dark eyes, his golden skin shimmering underneath the water, and Merlin will lay behind Arthur in the tub, lathering sweet oils into Arthur’s skin until it wrinkles.

When Arthur asks Merlin to drink with him, Merlin knows that Arthur just wants to forget and that Merlin is there to help erase the grit of Uther’s words from Arthur’s mind. He will kiss Merlin until Merlin’s lips bruise beneath his, touch Merlin strong and hard until they’re both slick with sweat and arousal, but he will never lose control. He will never ask Merlin to do something Merlin doesn’t want to do, no matter how angry he becomes.

But, sometimes, Merlin will wake to Arthur’s hushed words small and thick in the air. Arthur will press his lips to Merlin’s temple and whisper, “I’m sorry,” until his voice runs hoarse, until the first streaks of dawn light up the room. Merlin never lets him know that he’s heard, never lets him know that he’s awake, that he knows the pain in Arthur’s voice as if it was his own.

“I’m sorry,” Arthur will say, his eyes wet in Merlin’s hair, his hands flush against Merlin’s skin.

“I’m sorry.”

And Merlin never asks what for.

***

When Arthur touches Merlin, Merlin knows that his destiny has always lain with Arthur, even if only because he can feel the magic unfurl inside him, burning brighter and brighter with each press of Arthur’s kiss.


End file.
